


in his eyes

by pendules



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Awkwardness, Crack, Fluff, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 05:23:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12052212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendules/pseuds/pendules
Summary: He hasn't looked in a mirror since he woke up but he wouldn't be surprised if the wordsI slept with Dean Ambrosewere tattooed across his forehead.It's hard to be inconspicuous when you feel like something's fundamentally changed in the very makeup of your own body.In which Seth freaks out after he and Dean have sex and he gets some help from an unexpected source.





	in his eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't kidding when I said Elias was going to be in all my fics from now on. [evil laughter] Okay, I'm kidding. Not all. But he's definitely in this one. Who actually knows why. I just love him. He's the greatest.

Seth wakes up half-naked in Dean's bed one morning and he can't remember where he is for a handful of disorienting minutes. Until the night before comes rushing back all at once and he just jerks upright and thinks _What the fuck._

They'd defended the titles again, he remembers, and then they were at a bar and there was a lot of booze and then some _more_ booze and then they were outside the bar and Dean was right in his personal space, and he could make out the different shades of blue in his eyes and smell the whiskey on his breath, and then they were kissing, somehow, and at first it was sloppy and chaotic but nice, _really_ nice, and then it was more aggressive and heated, and then they were kissing up against the side of the car, breathless and desperate, with Dean's hands all over his body and their hips pressed tightly together — and he can't remember much about the drive back — so then they were fumbling around for keys in the hotel hallway while Seth giggled like a senseless teenager and Dean pressed wet kisses to the side of his neck —

He carefully surveys the situation: Dean's still fast asleep, thank god, and facing away from him under the covers. He lets out a tiny sigh of relief before figuring out his game plan. Which, at this moment, basically just involves holding his breath and trying to get out from under the covers as quietly and inconspicuously as possible. He can deal with _everything else_ when he's dressed and properly awake and maybe when he's gotten some coffee in him and _definitely_ when he's somewhere away from Dean.

His plan pretty much collapses immediately when he gets his legs tangled in the sheets and ends up face-planting onto the carpet. 

"Ouch," he says, grabbing his nose and forehead. Sometimes it really eludes him how the hell he got so far in his chosen career when he's the biggest fucking klutz on the planet.

He can hear Dean stir a bit because of the noise and he freezes for a moment, still on the fucking floor, looking around for his clothes. He figures he's going to go back to sleep but —

"Seth?" he hears him call out, voice gruff. "What're ya doin'?"

Seth gingerly gets to his feet, and finally spots his jeans crumpled in a heap on the floor, grabs them and starts pulling them on as fast as possible, doubled over, while mentally cursing his own stupid decision to buy them _this_ fucking tight. How on earth they managed to get them off last night with impaired motor function is beyond him.

"Umm, I'm just — I have to take care of some stuff. But I'll be back later, okay?"

Dean makes an indiscernible noise, probably of acknowledgement, and apparently shifts over and falls back asleep, going still and silent again.

Seth lets out a breath. 

But just as he locates one of his t-shirts on the floor in front of the bed and straightens to his full height to put it on —

"Wait," comes Dean's voice again, making him jump in quite an embarrassing fashion. "C'mere."

Seth just stands there holding the shirt for what feels like hours before he swallows hard and walks around to the other side of the bed, carefully avoiding all the items of clothing and shoes littering the floor.

He finally just looks directly at Dean for the first time. And he looks _completely_ out of it, hair sticking up in all directions, eyes only barely cracked open, dark circles clearly visible under them. He would laugh if this wasn't literally one of the most surreal things to ever happen to him.

"Yeah?" he asks, hovering over him hesitantly.

Dean just sort of half-smiles at him, almost like he's still drunk, before leaning in and kissing him softly on the mouth. "Mornin'," he says against his lips, and something flutters warmly and pleasantly in Seth's stomach.

Then, he settles back down on the pillows, turns over and closes his eyes again, makes a soft, content sound, and seemingly goes right back to sleep.

Seth just stares at his sleeping body for a few long moments, taking deliberate breaths, blinking slowly, wondering if all of this is just some wild fantasy come true. Maybe he accidentally took something last night and he's still tripping the fuck out.

Maybe it's just an uncannily vivid dream.

But right now, at this very moment, he's never felt more awake in his life.

*

He needs to _go_ — he needs to be somewhere away from all of this. To assess. He pulls the shirt over his head and closes the door gently behind him. No one's in the hallways and he's grateful for that. He has a weird feeling that anyone he knows who so much as glanced at him right now would be able to figure out exactly what happened last night. It feels like it's written all over him, from his eyes to the curve of his mouth to the set of his shoulders to his stride. Maybe they'd be able to _smell_ it on him. He feels _different_ than he did yesterday. Like someone else. Someone new.

He hasn't looked in a mirror since he woke up but he wouldn't be surprised if the words _I slept with Dean Ambrose_ were tattooed across his forehead.

It's hard to be inconspicuous when you feel like something's fundamentally changed in the very makeup of your own body.

But at the same time, he kind of needs to _tell_ someone. He needs to say the words out loud for it to become _real_ to him, because it's hard for him to even wrap his own mind around it right now. He thinks about Roman, and then dismisses it; Roman's still too tangled up in _all of this_ and he doesn't want to put him in the middle of — _all of this_ , too. He doesn't want him to be in the position of possibly having to choose sides or anything. That wouldn't be fair. Not to him, and not to Dean. 

He thinks about calling his mom for one crazy moment and then shakes that thought away too. _Who else?_ He absently scrolls through his contacts but no one there jumps out at him as the right call.

Maybe he can randomly walk up to a stranger and say, "Hi. I just slept with the guy I've been in love with for I don't even know how long and who I kinda stabbed in the back a couple years ago, but we're friends again now, but maybe I just fucked it all up again, who the fuck knows, haha. Anyway, what's up with _you_ this fine morning?"

But that would be fucking _nuts_ , so no. He still needs to just get away, get some air. Maybe he'll eventually come across someone he can spill his guts to.

So, he takes the elevator down to the lobby and bolts from the hotel as fast as he can.

*

He starts heading for the nearest coffee shop he can remember seeing and he _swears_ people on the street are staring at him. He's officially paranoid now. Great. Maybe it's just because he probably looks like a fucking mess and probably still smells like a dirty barroom floor. But he can't be too careful.

He's doing a double-take at a lady with a stroller who's definitely _looking right at him_ , when he almost trips and falls right over the legs of a guy who's literally sitting on the curb. God, he's really _nailing_ the whole poise and grace thing today.

He whips around to see who the hell is sitting on the sidewalk — and of course, it's Elias. Guitar in tow. Looking completely impassive and also like he belongs right there in that exact spot, on the street.

"What the hell are you doing, man?" he asks, curiously regarding his little set-up. 

"Just honing my craft," is all the Drifter responds.

Seth shrugs. It's not like he expected a proper explanation from him of all people.

"Are you begging on the street for cash?" he asks, spotting his open guitar case next to him, a couple coins and a few crumpled-up ones at the very bottom of it.

"If they want to pay me for my gift, then they should be afforded that privilege," he says, like that makes all the sense in the world.

"Yeah," Seth says, nodding. "Right."

He just stands there awkwardly for a second, listening to Elias play a few chords, before he speaks again, startling him a bit.

"Where's your boyfriend?" he says evenly.

" _What?_ " Seth asks immediately, eyebrows raising in alarm.

"Ambrose," Elias says, like it's obvious, still strumming, not even looking up at him.

"He's not my— _What?_ Wait. Why would you _say_ that?" he demands, confused.

"Oh, I just assumed," Elias says. "My apologies, man."

Seth frowns at him. "Why would you _assume_ that, though?"

Elias actually pauses for a moment, his hands going still on the strings. "It's all in the eyes, man. The way you look at him. The way he looks at you. It's like an old love song from the 60s."

Seth takes that in for a couple beats. Somehow, it makes more sense than anything that's happened in the last twelve hours.

"He's not my boyfriend," Seth tells him. "Or he _wasn't_. Before. I don't know _what_ we are now."

Elias doesn't say anything for a while. Seth wonders if he's just forgotten he's even there.

"What do you want him to be?" he eventually asks. It doesn't feel like the kind of question that needs a verbal answer.

Seth just looks around for a minute, at the people, the buildings, the streets, the sky, then closes his eyes and lets himself breathe it all in. Life, the present choices right in front of him, the future possibilities spread out before him like forks in the road. He lets himself forget the past, all the guilt and regrets that have been hanging around his neck like an anchor, weighing him down. He can't ever let it go completely, but he can lighten that load over time. It's funny, how forgiving _yourself_ always seems like the hardest thing to do.

"Thanks, man," Seth says, after emptying his mind of all its chaos and distractions and letting himself finally feel and know and accept what he has to do now. 

He drops a fifty in Elias's guitar case and heads back the way he came from.

*

He knocks on the door without hesitating.

Dean looks much better when he's standing in front of him now. He'd obviously showered, hair still damp, dressed in a clean t-shirt and sweatpants. He smells really good too.

"Hey," is all Seth says, smiling at the mere sight of him. He's remembering how Dean _tasted_ last night, how the curves of his body felt under his fingers, how it felt to look up at him and firmly hold his gaze when the heat was _building_ and _building_ between them to its eventual climax, and it's not embarrassing or disconcerting — it's just _right_.

 _Dean_ looks a bit wary this time, though. He supposes that by basically running away from him this morning, he probably didn't do himself any favours. "Did you, uh, take care of your _stuff_?" he asks, completely deadpan.

Seth actually laughs at that. Then, he cringes a little. "I thought you wouldn't remember that."

"I remember everything," Dean says simply.

"Right," Seth says, nodding. "So, we should probably talk —"

"About what?" Dean says, clearly fucking with him now.

Seth rolls his eyes. "I'm being _serious_ over here."

"Okay," he says, putting on his best 'I'm being serious' expression.

Seth almost forgets the whole thing altogether and kisses his stupid face off right then and there. Instead, he takes a breath and tries to shake the leftover nervous energy away.

"So, last night," he starts. "Was that just a one time deal or —?"

Dean narrows his eyes at him, actually looking a bit taken aback now. "What?"

"I mean, it would be fine if it was — If that's what you wanted —"

"What do _you_ want?" Dean asks bluntly, and Seth just stares at him for a moment, considering.

 _Everything_ , he wants to say. _Everything._ But that's what got him into a huge fucking mess in the first place. Wanting too much, too fast, wanting everything and ending up losing all the things that mattered the most.

"I wanna hold your hand," he blurts out. And then instantly wants to fall into a hole and die.

Dean laughs under his breath. " _What?_ " he asks again, incredulous and delighted at the same time.

"I mean —" Seth manages to stutter. "Sex is good — The sex was _great_ , _more_ than great — But I just — I want this to be _more_ than that. And I know I probably have _no_ right to ask for that, I've already asked for way too much as it is, but —"

" _Seth_ ," Dean says quietly but firmly, gently resting both his hands on the sides of his face. "Just stop talking."

"Okay," Seth exhales, feeling himself drift away into Dean's eyes.

And then he kisses him. Deep and lingering and overwhelming. And it feels like the answer to every question Seth's ever had. If he's someone different now because of this, then he'll gladly say goodbye to his old self. Because what he is now is _more_ , happier, better, more honest, less selfish — in love. And _loved_ , too, apparently.

Dean pulls away and lets out another soft, disbelieving laugh. "You're such a loser," he says, shaking his head. The fond look in his eyes says something else, though.

"But you _like_ me," Seth counters.

Dean appears to reflect on that for a moment, and Seth fully expects a snarky retort. But instead he just says, "Fuck _yeah_ , I do."

Seth reaches up to kiss him again and if he ends up smiling against his lips like a complete moron, then he really doesn't care at all.


End file.
